


Perchance to Dream

by Lightpoint



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Carbonite, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Freaky Force Stuff, Gen, Heavy Angst, Jedi Training, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Backstory, Mind Control, Misuse of the Force, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, References to Bloodline, Sith, Stockholm Syndrome, The Dark Side of the Force, The Force, The Master of the Knights of Ren, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Lust, Vader and Kylo have skewed viewpoints, Vader's Legacy, my first Shakespeare reference in a fanfic lol - Freeform, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8707660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightpoint/pseuds/Lightpoint
Summary: So I'm jumping on this theory about the Rogue One team and the Knights of Ren before Rogue One comes out and it gets Jossed ...probably... The Rogue One  team is captured, and scheduled for execution. Vader has other ideas. Years later, Ben Solo discovers a long-lost part of his grandfather's legacy. A weapon. Or, well,  five  of them...Basically, this is where the Knights of Ren came from, how they got that way, and why Kylo’s got them. It’s not pretty. Includes Jedi training, Dark Side corruption, and a brief exploration of Ben Solo's Fall.





	1. Recycled and Refurbished

**Author's Note:**

> There's some widely known canon inaccuracies in the theory, but I think the base idea is interesting. I've expanded it a bit, too...because why did KYLO, SPECIFICALLY become their Master?  
> ...Note that I’ve maybe read 2 Rogue One fanfics so I’m not in tune with whatever characterization fandom is giving these guys. Like, at all.  
>  **EDIT: This ends kind of abruptly, because watching Rogue One kinda killed this plotbunny. Hopefully the idea still comes across.**

_What will you do, when they catch you?_  
_What will you become?_  

\-- Saw Gerrera, _Rogue One_ trailer 

*************************************************************************************************************************************************

Baze Malbus broke first. Vader wasn’t exactly surprised. The assassin roared and spat, laughed with empty glee as the droids flayed his skin, all to no avail. 

Nothing the man hadn’t seen before. His soul was a mass of knives and poison, of scars layered on top of scars, forming armor as thick – and as dull – as the durasteel plates he wore into battle.

Vader stripped it all away, and lanced the soft, shivering underbelly like a boil. 

When the pus drained away, Malbus had forgotten his name.

 

*

 

Jyn Erso took some time. Her mind twisted away from him, like greased transparisteel. She bent, melted, folded herself into new shapes, hid in the shadows, always a breath ahead of his touch. 

But Vader knew her kind. He’d run with little Jyns in the stinking corridors of Gardulla the Hutt’s palace. He’d _led_ them on the streets of Mos Epsa, until the Jedi found him. He knew where she hid when the dogs came howling at her door.

He dragged her out piece by piece.

She was screaming for her father within a week.

 

*

 

Cassian Andor broke a week after Jyn. Vader strapped him naked to a table in front of a one-way window, wired auditory and olfactory sensors directly into his brain, and hooked both to Jyn’s cell. The man _begged_ when the medical droid peeled back his eyelids, and screamed when Vader opened the window, to a crystal-clear view of Jyn writhing under an electrowhip. He had a droid standing by, taking great care to keep his eyes lubricated. The man wouldn’t be much use blind. 

Friends or lovers, it made no difference to Vader. The sniper’s mind was awash in fear. In care. In _attachment._

 _Master Yoda was right all along,_ Vader thought, as Andor’s vocal cords ripped. 

It was almost funny. 

 

*

 

Bodhi Rook’s mind was a bright, rusted labyrinth of wires and blueprints. Vader almost felt at home. He traced the power lines back to the source and rerouted the motivator, twisted the actuator circuits away from shining memories of sweet-smelling fields and free laughter. 

To Rook’s credit, it took some time to burn them out completely. The circuits kept re-forming, sparking in his mind, as though he was clinging to the thing that bound him to the world.

So Vader did not break them. He starved them out, and slid the source away from hope, and into raw logic. Binary.

One. Zero. Yes. No. Execute? 

…No command found… 

Vader left him on the rack, empty, wailing for his Master to return.

 

*

 

Chirrit Imwe was an odd one. He felt the Force, but was far from a Jedi. Objectively speaking the blind man’s midichlorian count was so low that they wouldn’t have given him a second glance.

And yet…

Vader watched him for weeks. The droids and interrogation specialists pumped him full of chemicals, and laughed when he screamed. Harsh light and noise blared when he started to drop off to sleep. His mind writhed at Vader’s touch, nearly naked under shields as thin as shimmersilk. 

Yet Chirrit Imwe reached for the Force every time his resolve wavered. It was like a child flailing tiny hands in the dark, crying for its mother as a monster crept up from under the bed. 

She never came, of course. Not really. But the feather-touch, the warm hand smoothing the tears from his cheek was enough to sustain her blind disciple.

Vader’s ire grew. 

He took over the interrogation himself, and swamped the cell in the power of the Dark Side. He caressed Chirrit’s flayed soul with fire, showed him the maybes, the what ifs, the _what could have happened if you’d been able to protect them._ Even a weakling like him could accomplish great things with the power of the Dark.

Soon, his shame lay bare and twitching before Vader’s power. 

_If I was stronger…_

Behind his mask, Vader smirked.

*

 

Three months after the Battle of Yavin, Vader waited on an observation platform overlooking the _Executor’s_ parade deck. Two platoons of the 501st stood beneath him, their attention fixed on the five figures lined up against the bulkhead. 

Chirrit was the only one who could stand unaided. He gazed into nothing, an odd smile on his face, ignoring the drool spattering his bare feet, courtesy of Malbus. Jyn swayed, her bound arms bent in all the wrong ways, and flinched at every touch, except for Cassian’s head lolling against her shoulder. His eyes were shot with blood, his mouth forming nameless sounds as he and Jyn held each other up. Bodhi traced patterns in the air, and leaned against the wall, counting down from ten to zero, and starting over and over and over again. And again.

Vader watched them for a long while.

Then he nodded at the firing squad. Five shots echoed in the air.

 

*

 

All things being equal, blaster shots to the center of mass were relatively simple wounds to heal. Especially if the blasters had been set to low power.

Fatal? Certainly.

Damage? Minimal. He’d seen his Master…recycle creatures in far worse shape than this. 

_Heal the body. Capture the mind._

Of course, such techniques were far more effective when the subject had an especially strong will to live.

_And these five…_

Vader waited for the Rebels to be declared dead. Then he reached into the Force. The Dark Lord of the Sith latched onto what was left of their struggling spirits, and flooded them with raw power. _His_ power. _His_ will.

One by one, they returned to him. 

Their Master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter skips ahead a bit. It shows What Happens to the team, and what in the hell this all has to do with Kylo Ren.


	2. Possess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo Ren remembers Ben Solo, ruminates on fear, and considers the difference between his uncle and his grandfather. He also finds something hidden away in the bowels of Coruscant.

Contrary to popular belief, Kylo Ren did not hate Luke Skywalker. He never had, even when he went by the name his parents gave him. How could he hate the one person in the entire galaxy who even came _close_ to understanding what it was like to be…well… _him?_

The day that his mother had handed him off to Luke on Yavin IV was the happiest he’d been in years.

It was…quiet, there. Sure, there was a steady stream of tourists, but a few dozen people occasionally making it far enough into the jungle to disturb his meditation was far, far better than life on Hosnian Prime. He could sleep, finally, the clamor of millions of _thoughts_ muted by distance. His uncle understood that, too.

“It never occurred to me, until you were born,” Luke had said, shortly after Kylo -- _Ben, that was Ben_ \-- moved in. “But I grew up in a place…apart.” He waved his arms vaguely. “I used to say that if there was a bright center to the universe, Tatooine was the planet it was farthest from.” The corner of his mouth quirked up into a grin. “I was bored out of my mind.”

Ben had laughed at that. Even now, he had a problem picturing his cool-headed Uncle getting bored with _anything._ The man routinely sat atop the Great Pyramid for hours meditating, still as a stone while his nephew fidgeted and tried to levitate the little pebbles lining the flat rock without being noticed.

“Bored, but…Well, at peace,” he said slowly. “I’m sorry Ben, I don’t know what else to call it. But in retrospect…” He trailed off, and caught Ben’s eye. “Life in the Alliance took some getting used to. It wasn’t Hosnian Prime, but there were more beings crammed into any one of their bases or capital ships than in all of Anchorhead, or Mos Eisley.” He shook his head. “It was…a shock. Not that I realized it at first. And we were all on our feet almost all the time, so being constantly wired wasn’t exactly unusual…I knew guys who didn’t get more than 4 or 5 hours of sleep a night for months on end. So if your bunkmate had some stupid bad habit – like leaving their socks on the floor – it turned into an excuse for a fight.” Luke grinned, a little regretfully. “I almost broke Dac’s nose once. It was just…noisy.” He watched Ben carefully. “Even without getting hit with everything the Rogues were thinking. All that tension…Fear, anger…And joy,” he continued, smiling. “When everyone comes back alive. So…”

Ben looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to do it…I just…”

“I know,” said Luke. “Believe me.”

Ben had, and, despite everything, Kylo Ren did, too. 

Kylo Ren did not hate Luke Skywalker. 

_That’s why he has to die._

 

*

 

Kylo Ren tried not to think of those days. Back then, the rage still took him, at times, but it was harder and harder to hold onto as the days wore away. He grew more comfortable around people, and could venture out into the little village near the largest pyramid without becoming overwhelmed. The murmur of strange thoughts and foreign emotions never left him, but with Luke’s help, they were easier to bear. Luke helped him unspool his power, and then to channel it. 

Not that it happened overnight. His first breakthrough came after five weeks of both utter boredom and dizzying physical strain. Luke had led him to a fast-moving river deep in the jungle. After a moment of consideration, and a careful look at the darkening sky, Luke had shucked off his boots and outer robes, and walked in up to his waist. Ben, slumped over after a day’s hard run through the jungle, had come within inches of just sitting himself down on a stone and _not moving_ until they went back. It still embarrassed him to think of it. _I was such a child…_ But he’d sucked it up, followed his uncle, and stood impatiently, swaying slightly in the current, thinking about how long it was going to take his under tunic to dry. Night was falling rapidly, and on Yavin IV, that meant that the predators would be out soon. But first, it was the damn _mosquitos…_

“Jedi walk with the Force,” Luke began. 

“Do they, Uncle? I had no idea,” Ben snapped, before he could stop himself. Luke just _looked_ at him with that cool, piercing gaze that made him feel like he was about 5. He swallowed his next retort.

“The Force is in all things,” Luke continued. “It surrounds us, penetrates us, and binds the galaxy together. Not that I have to tell _you_ that.” Luke grinned wryly at his nephew’s expression. “I know that I’ve beaten this bantha to death, and yet…You can’t seem to make the connection. It’s not you,” he said quickly, holding up a hand as mingled anger and despair welled up in Ben’s heart. “Your connection to the Force is quite…physical. You don’t so much _feel_ it as live _inside_ it. So perhaps a different approach…Clear your mind…”

They stood in the river for nearly a quarter of an hour. 

“You’re just making this up as you go, aren’t – “

A distant roar was all the warning he got. An unstoppable swell of water knocked Ben off his feet, tossing him forward like a rag doll. Dimly, he was aware of the same thing happening to Luke. 

He rolled end over end, gasping, struggling to keep his head above the surface. He lashed out with the Force, sent a wave of power out in all directions, trying to throw the river _away._

Nothing. If anything, the roar in his ears intensified in loud, shocking bursts, as if the river was laughing at him. Then Luke laid a hand on his back. He latched onto it like a lifeline, attempting to straighten his body, to float, but…The water dragged him under again. And yet the hand was still there. Luke moved with him, with the river, and – 

Ben got it.

He shut his eyes, and let himself _feel._ The water roared around him, filling his senses, the sheer force of it impossible to resist. It carried him, _held_ him…

Luke removed his hand, and slid off to the side, grinning. Kylo whooped with laugher, and darted forward like a fish, riding the rushing water, using the sudden swells and twists to move _faster._ Luke laughed with him, and pointed at a rapidly approaching outcropping of rocks. They sank into the Force, and _leaped_ over it, joining the river seamlessly on the other side. Luke guided him towards a small island, right before the river widened. Ben climbed out reluctantly, wincing as his bare feet sank into the mud.

“Umm…where are we?” he asked, when he could speak again. Luke shrugged. 

“Not sure. The Temple is… _that_ way,” he said, pointing across the river. Ben stared. Then he dropped to the ground, and laughed.

 

*

 

They returned to the river several times, sometimes to swim, sometimes to just stand inside it, and feel. Ben stopped breaking dishware and doors (mostly by accident, other times…not so much) by the time he was 17. He learned to hold onto himself, onto the Force, to both let it carry him (hold him steady), and to use it to get him where he needed to go.

Kylo’s jaw clenched.

Luke might as well have shoved him into a tiny room with crack in the ceiling, where he could see the light and feel the air, but could never, ever go outside.

At the time, though…

_Pretty little bird…How it loves its cage…_

He’d trusted the Force. He’d let it carry him, shape him, when he should have been the one in control, the one with the reins, bringing it to heel. 

Kylo Ren was not one with the river. The river was his. It took him where he wanted. It could have carried them all the way back to the Temple. They could have done it, him and Luke. With their combined strength, they could turn it on its head, divert the flow, ride the power and then throw it back. Luke knew it just as well as he did. He just wouldn’t do it.

And so when memories of cool, jungle mist and golden sunlight crept in, Kylo reminded himself focused on his uncle’s attempts to _shape_ him, to twist and press him into something cracked and flawed, a mewling _child_ at the mercy of his own strength. 

_He’s afraid of what he is. Of what_ you _are. Of my_ legacy. _We had the galaxy in our hands. But my son is weak...Not like you…So he lied…_

 

*

 

Ben Solo had felt something shift in the Force long before Ransolm Casterfo revealed his mother’s birthright to the entire Senate and, soon, very soon, the entire galaxy. He had been travelling incognito with his uncle, slowly adjusting to life among the masses – a sort of exposure therapy – when every holoscreen in the dank Mos Eisley bar where they were eating lit up with his mother’s face.

His first thought was _LIAR._ Senator Casterfo was wrong. He had to be. Because they’d never…

Then he saw his uncle’s face.

_Why didn’t you tell me?_

 

*

 

Luke took him to Endor, and Ben Solo found the truth. It lay black and terrible -- _beautiful_ \-- in Darth Vader’s ashes. He’d slipped away from the camp in the dark of night, wrapped up Vader’s helmet in his cloak. Cracking the security code on his uncle’s ship had been easy, a matter of seconds. He’d slept with the helmet en route to Coruscant, wrapped his long body around it like it was his old stuffed bantha, and dreamed terrible, beautiful dreams.

Fear. Hatred. Love and Lust. 

Power.

_Truth._

The scales fell from his eyes. He saw his uncle’s fear staining all the pitiful, misguided attempts to mold his students into something _unnatural._ To subjugate them to the whims of the Force.

_The Force itself feared me. As it will fear you. Your uncle…will fail. He does not know the power of the Dark Side._

_He will die. The Jedi will die with him._

_They are doomed._

 

*

 

He walked deep into the bowels of Galactic City, miles underneath the ruins of Darth Vader’s palace, the helmet tucked under his arm, wrapped tightly in his Jedi cloak. The blasted rock and twisted durasteel parted before him like water. The Dark tugged at his mind, drew him with cold strength to a barely-functional turbolift. 

_Sub-basement 49…_

It was a fast ride, but... Ben shut his eyes. The quiet part of his self that sounded (and felt) so much like both his mother and his uncle whispered -- _begged_ \-- him to turn back.

The Force flowed through him. His hand smacked the control panel, directed it back up…

_NO._

His mind flooded with agony. 

_THIS is power. THIS is Truth. If you reject this Truth you. Will. Be. Destroyed. If not by ME, then it will be THEM. TAKE IT._

Ben dropped to the deck, sobbing. But he stood, and continued on. 

Sub-basement 49 was in remarkably good shape. Harsh white light flicked on as he walked down the gleaming corridor. The smell of bacta and burnt metal filled the air.  
His mind drifted, confused and pained, as his legs carried him down a series of twists and turns, a pattern that he’d never have been able to replicate on his own.

_How will I get out…_

The Dark throbbed with amusement. 

But finally he arrived at a blast door reinforced with durasteel, unmarked save for a raised, white circle. 

Ben’s feet carried him forward, lifted up his arms, and splayed his right palm flat against the circle. Pain flashed, and blood flowed. The circle glowed red as the floor rushed up to meet him.

 

*

 

When Ben awoke, to door was open. The room was empty, save for a line of stasis tubes embedded in the far wall. Five sets of status lights blinked green.

Ben froze with horror.

_They’re alive…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ben...  
> 


End file.
